


Separation Anxiety

by yamiaainferno



Series: WKM Ramblings [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Dark says some pretty brutal shit about Damien, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 08:57:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13478052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yamiaainferno/pseuds/yamiaainferno
Summary: A self-indulgent "what if?" fic with little context.“Hey you.” Wilford settles for an affectionate, awe-struck whisper instead, riding high on the fact that this crazy plan hadworked, and feeling chuffed with himself for coming up with it all on his own. “Welcome back, Dames.”Promptly, it all goes tits up.





	Separation Anxiety

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fictsunami](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictsunami/gifts).



> This is dumb and doesn't make a lot of sense, but me and my friend talked about what would happen if Damien somehow got back in his body after all this time, and how terribly that would go for everyone. We concluded that Dark would probably know better than that-- but that a certain desperate maniac probably wouldn't. There's not a lot of context in general, but I felt like writing it and I liked how it turned out.

Damien and Dark are both unconscious, the latter still sprawled ungracefully across the floor. Wilford has taken the time to sit Damien up against the wall though, gently cupping his face, holding his breath and shaking with anticipation and worry and _hope_.

 _Please work please work please_ \-- Wilford’s prayers are interrupted by Damien stirring, eyelids fluttering open, looking confused and vulnerable and _Damien-like_ in a way that Mark and Dark never had, and Wilford’s smiling so wide he feels like he might split open. He wants to lean down and kiss Damien silly-- he doesn’t, because they should probably talk about that first, and Celine is still technically a factor, though Wilford’s fairly sure he’s not going to be able to surprise Dark again, nor does he have the faintest idea how to go about getting her a body.

“Hey you.” He settles for an affectionate, awe-struck whisper instead, riding high on the fact that this crazy plan had _worked_ , and feeling chuffed with himself for coming up with it all on his own. “Welcome back, Dames.”

Promptly, it all goes tits up.

Damien’s expression goes from confused to scared to _panicked_ , sucking in a lungful of air and then coughing it up, shocked. His hands fly to Wilford’s chest, uncoordinated, pushing weakly, trembling all over and shaking his head violently, making these choked noises that sound like he’s trying to speak but can’t quite manage it. Wilford falls back anyway, shaken, fairly certain that a feather could have bowled him over. He scrambles back up immediately though, kneeling again, hovering anxiously as Damien curls up into a ball, hands fisting in his hair, clawing at his scalp.

“Dames? Damien what’s wrong? Talk to me--” Wilford is panicking himself, unprepared and having no idea how to help, wanting to scoop Damien into his arms but not sure if that’s welcome, given that he’d been pushed away. He’s about to do it anyway when he’s interrupted.  
  
“I _told_ you it was a bad idea.” Dark’s standing again, though unsteady on his feet and leaning against the wall, scowling across the room at the two of them. Wilford had honestly forgotten that Dark was there, but in an instant he’s on his feet and in front of him, pressing the muzzle of his gun against Dark’s forehead and pinning him against the wall, eyes murderous.

“ _What did you do._ ” He takes satisfaction in the way Dark grunts in pain at being slammed against the wall-- he’s not being mindful of the entity’s copious injuries the way he usually is. Quite the opposite, in fact.

“I didn’t _do_ anything.” Dark sneers, and Wilford honestly isn’t prepared for how Dark is different, sans Damien. Everything is reminding him far too much of Celine, but he only lets himself waver for a second before cocking his gun in lieu of a response. Dark laughs.

“He’s been sharing a corpse with his sister and a demon for nearly _one hundred years_. What did you _think_ would happen when you just _threw_ him into a _living body_ , all _alone_ , with no warning?” Wilford falters again, taking a step back from the words, though he keeps his gun trained firmly at Dark’s head. Dark follows, smelling the weakness and chasing it, even though it means keeping the gun pressed right into his skin, refusing to let Wilford gain any space.

“He’s _overwhelmed_.” Dark hisses, taking another step forward as Wilford takes one back. “Do you have any idea how _loud_ a body can be? So much sensation, so many moving parts-- blood pumping, chest expanding, muscles twitching.” A step back, a step forward. “Do you have any idea how much _space_ there is in a mind? How _exposed_ it feels to be alone with just your own thoughts, no blanket of darkness or familiar voice to protect you from it all?” Retreat, advance, retreat, advance, and suddenly Wilford’s back hits the opposite wall. “Face it: _you fucked up, William_.”

The use of his real name shakes Wilford more than he wants to admit, his breath coming fast and shallow as his aim wobbles, unable to keep his hand steady. Stubbornly, he brings his other hand up, stabilizing himself again. “ _He didn’t want to be there!_ ” Wilford shouts, refusing to admit that this was a mistake. “You were holding him _hostage_!”  
  
“He’s weak. He’s _always_ been weak, a _pain in the ass_. Always _scared_ , always _holding me back_.” The insults are enough to make Wilford livid once more, fear forgotten. “The  _only reason_ I didn’t kick him out with the district attorney was that he was my brother. The only reason that I haven’t since is that _he can’t survive without me._ If you let him stay in there alone he’ll destroy himself.”

“ _You_ ,” Wilford is shaking again, this time in anger, “are _not_ Celine, so don’t speak as if you are. Celine did _not_ think Damien was _weak_!”

“I didn’t share a brain with him before.” Dark snarls again. “And just because I’m not the only one here doesn’t mean I’m not her. _I am Celine_. Five minutes ago _I was Damien_. That’s just not _all_.”

“Get out.” Wilford orders, done arguing. He presses his gun harder against Dark’s forehead. “Get the fuck out before I splatter your brains all over the wall. I’d like to see your shell recover from _that_.”

“He’s _broken_ , Wilford.” Dark doesn’t listen. “You can’t save him from the fact that he’s only a third of what he should be. His only hope of being whole is to be _me_.”

Wilford pulls the trigger. The explosion of gore is fairly spectacular-- it’s a big gun, and the shot had been point-blank. Dark’s shell collapses to the floor once more, seemingly immobile, but there's no way of knowing how long it'll stay that way. Wilford puts his gun away and steps over the corpse on the floor to get back to Damien, who has curled himself into an impressively tiny ball-- face buried in his knees, hands over his ears, shaking violently. Wilford hesitates and then doubles back to Dark, fishing the handkerchief out of his suit jacket to wipe the blood off of his face and hands. Damien’s scared enough as it is. Once satisfactorily clean, he drops the silk square carelessly on the floor and returns.

“I'm gonna pick you up now, Dames.” Damien doesn’t really respond, but the heaving of his chest picks up a little. “We’ll get you out of here, don’t worry.” Wilford is trying his best to be soothing, but he was never especially great at it, even before. Still, he’s exceedingly gentle as he scoops Damien into his arms, cradling him against his chest. He struggles for a moment but still doesn’t seem to have the greatest control over his body, and it’s easy for Wilford to keep hold. Eventually Damien stills and clings on, heaving loud, full-bodied sobs into Wilford’s shoulder. It’s enough to break his heart and make him want to pump a few more rounds into Dark’s face for good measure. He has the feeling that would startle Damien, though, so he doesn’t. Instead he moves the hand not supporting Damien’s weight to stroke his hair in what Wilford hopes is a comforting manner. “Shh, you’re safe. No one’s ever going to hurt you again, Dames.”

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: http://yamiaainferno.tumblr.com/


End file.
